“Thanks,” I tell him, accepting a cup of champagne and taking a generous swig. “Just let me freshen up a little, I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time,” he tells me, his eyes lingering on his face. He can tell something is a little off, but is nice enough not to say anything outright.
I duck into the bathroom, drinking down the rest of my champagne and studying myself in the mirror.
“You can do this,” I whisper, coaching myself through my nerves, “You’ve wanted this for years. Since before anything even happened with Tucker. Emerson is amazing, and he cares about you, and...and...”
“Everything OK in there?” Emerson asks at the door.
“Yep!” I reply, my voice an octave higher than it usually is, “Totally fine!”
“Abby,” he says, in a voice that tells me he knows the truth, “Do you want to talk?”
Sighing, I turn and gently pull open the bathroom door. “Come on in,” I say, trying to play off my embarrassment as I turn and sit on the edge of the tub.
“So. What’s going on up there?” he asks, glancing up at my head. “Tell me.”
“I’m just...It’s...” I stammer, blushing as I try to string the words together. “We’ve been talking about this all week. You know. The thing we decided to do today...”
“Oh, I know all about the thing,” Emerson smiles.
“And I still really want...the thing to happen,” I stumble ahead, “But I’m sort of out of practice. I’ve only ever done this once before, and that wasn’t such a great experience. And I know it won’t always be like that, but you actually know what you’re doing, and—”
“Hey, hey,” Emerson says, wrapping an arm around me. “It’s OK, Abby. I understand completely. You don’t have to keep anything from me, you know that.”
“I guess I do,” I say quietly.
“Look,” Emerson says, taking my face in his hand, “I’m crazy about you, Abby. And I always will be. Now, because this world is a shitty, unfair place, we don’t have always. Because tomorrow, our parents are swooping in to fuck everything up. We only have tonight. But I would rather miss out entirely on having you than force you into anything you don’t want to do. OK? I want you to want this as much as I do. And if any part of you isn’t interested, or is uncomfortable, then we don’t have to do anything. Just tell me what you want.”
I bring my hazel eyes to Emerson’s, amazed by his level-headedness. He’d pass up on having sex on the only night we actually can out of respect for me. I know, in this moment, that I can trust him. And to be honest, I think I knew that all along. I’m ready for this.
“What I want,” I tell him, my voice dipping low once more, “Is for you to kiss me now.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Emerson’s lips brush against mine, softly at first. We warm to each other in an instant, leaving our cups of champagne by the wayside as our kiss becomes more earnest, more searching. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, digging my hands into his chestnut hair. He slips an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. Emerson lifts me into his lap, cradling me against his hard chest as our tongues glide and glance against each other. The taste of him is more intoxicating than any champagne I’ve ever tasted.
“Take me to the bed,” I whisper, kissing down along his throat.
I feel Emerson slip an arm under my knees and effortlessly pick me up. He’s a solid foot taller than me, and probably about 75 pounds heavier, so I might as well be a feather in his arms—or so he makes me feel. In a few quick strides, he’s carried me out of the bathroom and over to the queen sized bed. Just as I’ve imagined it a thousand times, he lays me out across the bedspread, drinking in the sight of me with his blue eyes. Only this time, it’s better than what I’ve imagined.
Because this time, it’s real.
“Undress me,” I tell him, “I want you to.”
Emerson kneels before me on the bed, his gaze burning with lust. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, “I love it when you tell me what you want.”
He lifts the black cotton tee shirt up over my head, and shucks off his own flannel. Catching my wrists in his hands, he pins them up over my head and lowers his body on top of mine, kissing me from the neck to the space between my breasts. He flicks open the clasp of my bra and closes his teeth around the edge of one cup, glancing up at me with a devilish wink. I feel a deep throb of need between my legs as he tugs my bra away with his teeth, then pulls the white tank top up over his head and immediately lowers his full lips to my chest.
I suck in a huge breath as he wraps his lips around my taut nipple, his hands roving down my torso all the while. The tip of his tongue flicks against the hard peak, sending a rush of sensation to the tips of my fingers and toes. My head falls back against the bed as he sucks on my breasts, and I’m so distracted that I almost don’t notice as he eases the skinny jeans down off my legs.
“You wore them,” he grins, sitting back on his heels to admire my choice in panties.
I look down at the black lace thong barely covering my most intimate flesh. It’s the same pair I was wearing that night at the party, when we finally let each other in on how we really felt, if not out loud. That night seems like eons ago, but it’s only been a matter of weeks. Look how much can change when you’re honest about what you really want.
“I thought you’d appreciate that,” I whisper, letting my legs fall open before him.
“Appreciation doesn’t even come close,” he growls, unbuckling his belt and tugging down his own jeans.
The rise in his black briefs can’t be contained. He’s hard as a rock for me, and absolutely huge. Emerson loops his fingers through the band of my thong and slowly, reverently, eases it down my legs. I lay before him, utterly naked, the cool air playing against my slick sex. With his eyes locked on me, Emerson tugs down his briefs, letting me see him in all his glory.
For a moment, it’s all we can do to stare at each other. Emerson kneels over me, his cock standing at full attention for me. I drink in the sight of it, thick and throbbing with want. Without thinking, I bring my hands to his hard length—I need both to grab hold of it. Emerson groans as I kneel opposite him, working my hands all along his cock. Taking my lead, he lays back on the bed as I continue to stroke him, feeling him get harder in my hands. As his head hits the pillow, I can’t wait any longer. I bring my lips to the round, shapely tip of him and close my lips around it.
His eyes scrunch up in bliss as I take his cock into my mouth, running my tongue along his tender shaft. I work my mouth along him, using both hands to keep a firm grasp. I love the feel of him as he fills up my mouth, the taste of him as he pulses for me.
“Abby,” he gasps, reaching for me, “I need you...I need...”
“Tell me,” I breathe, breaking away before running my tongue all around his bulging head. “Tell me what you want.”
In reply, I feel his hands close around my hips and tug me up toward him. I let him guide me, not knowing where this is heading but not caring too much either. With firm hands, he turns my body around so that I’m facing away from him. Before I can ask what he wants me to do, he’s tugged my hips back toward his face, lying out beneath me.
I cry out in delighted surprise as he brings his mouth swiftly to my sex, licking along my wet slit from below. My back arches with pleasure as the tip of his tongue finds my rock hard clit, and I groan as he wraps his lips around it. His cock is standing tall, harder than ever and far too delicious-looking to let be. As Emerson flicks his tongue across my aching clit, I lean forward and take him into my mouth as voraciously as ever.
We work each other into a frenzy, giving and taking as much as we can possibly manage. How can something feel so illicit and so natural all at the same time? I suck hard on Emerson’s cock as I feel myself teetering on the edge of orgasm. He must be able to feel it in me, because he takes out all the stops. I feel him slide two strong fingers into me as he licks along the length of me. H
is fingers pulse against that tender spot inside of me as the tip of his tongue flicks against my clit.
And just like that, I’m a goner.
I come hard as he laps up my desire, the room spinning around me. As the orgasm shudders through me, Emerson rolls me onto my back. I sprawl out beneath him, wide-eyed with blissful wonder. Wordlessly, he reaches into the pocket of his discarded jeans and pulls out a condom. Ripping open the package with his teeth, he can scarcely keep his eyes off of me. He rolls the condom down his pulsating length, and it finally hits me: this is really happening. His eyes are blazing as he lowers his taut body to mine. Wrapping my ankles around his tapered waist, I moan as I feel his swollen head pressing against my wet sex. This is it. At long last.
Emerson locks his eyes on mine, and we might as well be the only two people on the planet. He lingers there for just a moment, on the precipice of our knowing each other in an entirely new way. My whole body is screaming to feel him drive into me, demolish and rebuild me with the force of his need. I reach up and take his face in my hands.
“I’m all yours,” I whisper, my gaze steady on his face. “Take me.”
Something blazes behind his eyes as he brings his mouth to mine. He bucks his hips, pressing himself into me. A moan fills my throat as he parts my silky flesh with his staggering length. I can feel him diving into the very core of me. At last, he’s all the way in, and I can scarcely believe that he fits at all. But he does. And it feels fucking fantastic.
Our bodies move together, limbs tangled, chests heaving. He drives into me as I pull him in further, each of us trying to feel as much of the other as possible. A low, thudding bliss is building inside of me once more, and I can feel him growing to fill me—he’s right on the edge. He thrusts hard and deep, his face screwed up in a mask of ecstatic wonder. I grab hold of his perfect, firm ass, pulling him in as far as I can as I tell him, “Let go.”
Both of our voices swell into a huge groan as he pummels into me once more and comes, hard. I clutch onto him as I feel him spasm and gush inside of me, gaze up at him as his mouth falls open into a perfect “o”. It feels like a year goes by before we even begin to come back down to earth again.
Emerson lowers himself down next to me on the bed, pulling me to his chest. I rest my cheek on his hot skin, listening to the wild beating of his heart. I can’t formulate a single word to tell him what this has meant to me, that it was so much better than I ever could have hoped, and that I don’t know how I’ll stand to never have him again.
But the thing is, I don’t need to tell him. Just laying here beside me, it’s clear that he already knows.
Chapter Nine
I arrange my blonde hair into a hasty up-do, trying to keep from crying. I’ve been on the verge of tears since about five minutes after I woke up this morning—when I remembered what today is. Our parents’ wedding day. The day that Emerson and I become step siblings.
I’ve changed into my maid of honor dress, a lavender sheath, and tried my best to apply fancy makeup. We have to head right to the church this morning, just like we promised, and we’re already getting kind of a late start. I lock eyes with myself in the mirror, see the tears shining there.
“Stop it,” I whisper, “You can’t cry now. You always knew this was coming.”
But even though Emerson and I had our one night together knowing full well that it would be our last, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Stepping out into the hotel bedroom, I feel my heart clench painfully as Emerson turns to face me across the space. He’s wearing a simple gray suit, but it might as well be a tux for how good it looks on him. His hair is pushed away from his face, though the signature stubble I love so much is still in place. His blue eyes are shining with remorse for what’s about to happen and elation at what passed between us last night.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice ragged with conflicting emotion.
“Thank you,” I say softly, “You look amazing, too.”
“Here,” he says, moving to the motel mini-fridge. He opens it up and takes out a corsage in its little container. It’s a small sprig of lilac tied with an ivory ribbon.
“What is this, prom?” I laugh tearfully, as Emerson eases the band of the corsage up over my wrist.
“Just as miserable as prom, probably,” he grins wistfully, lacing my fingers through his.
“Well, don’t go overboard,” I joke, stepping toward him.
Without preamble, he pulls me into a tight embrace, pressing his lips ardently to mine. I take his face in my hands, kissing him hard. We both know that this is the last kiss we’ll ever share. It’s closed-lipped, almost sacred. And I’ll never forget it.
“I don’t know how just yet,” Emerson murmurs, running his hands down my arms, “But it’s going to be OK, Abby. We’re gonna make it through this.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say, shaking my head, “Because right now, I can’t see how I’m ever going to feel alright again.”
“At least we’ll still be in each others’ lives,” Emerson says, searching for a silver lining. “Even if it won’t be...how we’d prefer.”
“I hope you know that I’ll never stop wondering what might have happened between us,” I whisper, “You know. If only...”
“I know,” he says softly, kissing me on the forehead, “Me too, Abby.”
Knowing that we won’t be able to utter another word without breaking into tears, we silently gather our things. We stand in the threshold together, looking back at the motel room. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be as happy again as I have been here. As Emerson closes the door behind us, it feels like something is being entombed here—some part of me that is lost forever.
I sink into the passenger seat of the Chevy and stare out the window as we set off on the long drive back to our home town. Hopefully, by the time we get there, I’ll find it in my heart to fake a smile or two for my father’s wedding day.
Things are already well underway at our home by the time we pull up. My dad is waiting on the front steps, looking tense. I recognize my grandparents’ car, and another that must belong to the justice of the peace, in the driveway.
“There you two are!” my dad cries, beckoning us forward. “Come in, come in. Frank and Gillian are waiting to see you.”
That’s why he looks tense. He and my grandparents are already sure to be butting heads. I give Dad a quick kiss on the cheek as I pass.
“You look nice, Daddy,” I tell him, trying to be chipper.
“You too, sweetie,” he replies distractedly.
A pang of sadness twists my core at our clipped address. He’s taking so much away from me today, more than he could ever know, and for what? A shadow of the relationship we used to have? I force myself not to think of it as I hurry toward the kitchen with Emerson in tow. Stepping inside, I spot my grandparents huddled over the counter. They’re dressed to the nines—Grandpa Frank in an Italian wool suit, Grandma Jillian in her favorite fur stole. They’ve always looked to me like first class passengers on some old-timey luxury cruise line. The only things unappealing about their appearances today are the twin scowls they try to cover up as I approach.
“Abigail,” Grandma Jillian smiles, air-kissing both of my cheeks. A soft wash of her signature Chanel perfume brings back a million memories of tense family gatherings and etiquette lessons. I love my grandparents, but there’s definitely a lot of pressure that goes along with trying to meet their expectations.
“You look gorgeous, dear,” Grandpa Frank says, giving me a swift kiss on the hand. They’re a beautiful couple, and look much younger than they actually are. Grandma’s perfect crown of platinum blonde curls, Grandpa’s swoosh of silver hair, and their bright white smiles make them look like an advertisement for the swankiest retirement community around.
“Grandpa, Grandma, this is Emerson—Deb’s son,” I say, glancing Emerson’s way. He’s got both hands shoved into his pockets, and his mouth is a hard, solemn line.
“Hey,” Emerson nods.
“I’m Jillian. It’s nice to meet you,” Grandma says, offering her hand for Emerson to kiss. I watch, trying not to laugh, as he takes her hand and gives it a good solid shake instead.
“And here’s the man of the hour himself,” Grandpa says, looking up as Dad walks into the kitchen with the justice of the peace—a balding man with a cheerful red face.
“Are we starting soon?” Grandma asks, “The girls are playing bridge at three and I’d really prefer not to be late.”
“We’ll start as soon as Deb is ready,” Dad replies curtly. “I’m sure she’s just putting the finishing touches on—”
“I’m all set!” Deb sings out from the stairs.
We all turn to watch her grand entrance as she clatters down the last few steps and struts her stuff our way. I can practically hear my grandparents’ jaws crack against the tile floor as Deb meets us in the kitchen. Her rhinestone-encrusted heels must be five inches high, and fully visible beneath the micro minidress that’s serving as her wedding gown. A huge, flowing bustle trails along behind her, and her already voluminous blonde curls are stacked a mile high in a hairdo that would make the most seasoned pageant girl raise an eyebrow. Her makeup looks painted on, most especially her hot pink lipstick. She looks positively ecstatic...but not exactly the picture of the blushing bride we all had in mind—especially my grandparents.
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